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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750059">Blank</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Light Angst, Panic Attacks, also my way of dealing with writer's block, i got nervous at 3 am and wrote a fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:07:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Asahi doesn't even know where to start.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azumane Asahi/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blank</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger warning: descriptions of a panic attack and negative self talk</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Asahi knew his worst enemy was a blank slate.</p><p>Going to Tokyo had been a risky decision, even more so because he was pursuing <em>fashion.</em> Despite it all, he’d still managed to make himself feel like a tiny fish in a great big pond. Even when he moved on from his home in Miyagi to pursue a daring career, he couldn’t shake this feeling of inadequacy.</p><p>Usually, if nothing else, they’d have a prompt. Design a gown for a ball. Choose an era and make a suit to go with it. Create the outfit of an artist in Paris. He’d have <em>something.</em> Even on days when the rain poured outside and he sat in sweatpants (joggers were much more in style) dreading his assignments, he could make something. But his teacher had given them absolute freedom.</p><p>It was terrifying.</p><p>Small fish, big pond felt like an understatement. He wasn’t even algae, yet he had to survive the Atlantic.</p><p>Asahi knew he was in over his head. He’d been staring at a white sheet of paper for ten minutes and nothing, <em>nothing</em>, seemed to come out right. Every few seconds he’d start to sketch an idea before realizing how horribly bad it would turn out, and find himself erasing again. He was paralyzed with indecision, the white paper taunting him.</p><p>
  <em>Draw, dammit!</em>
</p><p>He picked up his pencil once again. <em>It’s pointless.</em> With practiced ease, he drew the outline of a model. <em>You won’t be able to make anything good.</em> Slowly, he sculpted the shape of a basic pantsuit. <em>You’re worthless. </em>He went to add details, hand shivering over the page.</p><p>
  <em>This is the one thing you should be good at and you can’t even manage it.</em>
</p><p>The paper below him was stained with tears. Asahi didn’t take the time to wonder whose, instead leaning back with a sigh. He picked up his eraser yet again, but his hands couldn’t quite grasp it. The eraser kept slipping through his fingers, but his eyes were far too blurred with tears to find it.</p><p>
  <em>You need to work.</em>
</p><p>His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He could hear someone breathing heavily (was that him?) yet it sounded far, far away. A distant memory, he forgot how to breathe. Instead, he was underwater, nothing but a minnow in a sea of doubt. No matter how he struggled to get to the surface, the weight of his fear kept pulling him back down.</p><p>“Asahi?” he heard a voice call from far away.</p><p>
  <em>Great, now you’ve ruined her day, too.</em>
</p><p>“Asahi!”</p><p>From where he sat, folding in on himself, Asahi couldn’t see you in the slightest. He was too busy wondering when his all body had been set aflame, and when all his limbs became just <em>slightly</em> too longer. He was far too occupied wondering when his body became something that was no longer <em>his</em>, the sound of his breathing screaming in his ears far too loud, to notice the noise of you walking up behind him.</p><p>“Breathe, love,” your voice settled. Somehow you found him in the storm, piercing through his hurricane of thoughts. “It’s okay,” you promised. Voice like church bells, he could almost believe you.</p><p>“What color is the TV?” you asked, rubbing soothing circles over his shoulders.</p><p>Asahi gulped. “Black.” He wasn’t sure who had said that. Was it him?</p><p>“What color is your desk?” you inquired with trained patience.</p><p>“Brown,” Asahi breathed out, feeling pressure release from his chest. His arms fell to his sides as he sat up to look at his surroundings. <em>His </em>office, which was right next to the kitchen you two shared and the apartment the both of your lived in.</p><p>“What color is the eraser?” you placed it into his hand, firm and assuring. Asahi grasped it tightly.</p><p>“Pink,” he replied, voice clear. Pink like the way your cheeks flushed.</p><p>Your hand traced over his jawline, pulling Asahi to face you. “And what color are my eyes?” you teased, bending down to place a peck on Asahi’s lips before he had the chance to answer.</p><p>You leaned back, stroking your partner’s hair gentle. “Better?” you asked. It was often that you asked Asahi if he was <em>okay</em> – you knew the answer was usually a resounding <em>no.</em> But always, you wanted to know how today was compared to yesterday. How now was compared to five minutes ago.</p><p>Asahi sighed, relaxing into your touch. “Better,” he agreed. As he felt the tension in his muscles ease up, you looked around at his workplace. His paper was battered, filled with pencil markings and eraser shaving and tears, and the state of his desk was atrocious.</p><p>“You don’t need to make a masterpiece,” you reminded him, tearing a new piece of paper (Asahi started to protest until you shot him a piercing glare. “Staring at mistakes won’t do you any good,” you retorted). “Just draw something you think is beautiful.”</p><p>Asahi looked at the blank page in front of him.</p><p>“You have no cage, now,” you mumbled, still allowing some of your morning drowsiness to hang on.</p><p>You were right, though. It was liberating.</p><p>Although he’d lost track of the mornings you’d spent like this, cradling him in your arms as he worked away at a new assignment, Asahi still couldn’t shake the feeling in his chest, like he was ascending. You were magical, he had no doubt about it.</p><p>
  <em>Something beautiful…</em>
</p><p>He looked at you, eyelids still fluttering open and shut and hair just a bit frizzy from the static of the pillow, and entirely imperfect. If he was a minnow, you were undoubtedly a swan.</p><p>He looked at you and finally was able to start drawing.</p>
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